


King of Sorrow

by misura



Series: Seeing a White Horse [2]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c., Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Background Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-16
Updated: 2009-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The process of grief deals with Stephen. (To say the reverse would be a lie.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Sorrow

On the day after the world came to an end, Stephen built a shrine for Anderson Cooper in his kitchen cupboard, next to his favorite mug (which he never used for fear of it getting broken) and several jars of his favorite brand of peanut butter. 

Usually, on weekdays, he opened the cupboard three times. Once in the morning, when he got his second favorite mug to pour his first cup of coffee of the day. He'd drink it while reading the newspaper, and every now and then, he'd spot a headline and try to imagine what Anderson would have said about it. On occasion, he imagined he could almost hear Anderson's voice - and as he closed his eyes or squinted a little, he allowed himself to believe Anderson was, in fact, there, talking to him, just for a short while.

Lunch was usually an on-the-job thing, but in the evening, Stephen'd be home for dinner. During the first two weeks, Jon kept asking him to go have dinner somewhere, only Stephen kept turning him down and eventually, Jon got the hint, even though he probably didn't quite understand Stephen's real reasons for wanting to go straight home after work. Stephen never tried telling Jon those reasons, anyway; excuses would serve him just as well in the end, he knew, and the truth would only make Jon feel bad or, worse, sorry for him - and while Stephen welcomed Jon trying to cheer him up, he despised the idea of Jon pitying him. There would be no sense to it; Jon had lost as much as Stephen.

After dinner, Stephen would watch some television or read, although he started doing the first thing less and less often. Every time he watched TV, he kept expecting to see Anderson on the screen - and while Anderson did, indeed, appear on the screen fairly often the first weeks, it was always in old footage, which Stephen had seen often enough to be able to talk along with him. The realization that he was doing so, almost without being aware of it himself, disturbed Stephen a little.

They stopped showing old footage of Anderson at around the same time Jon stopped asking him out for dinner. Life went on, so to speak. Stephen still opened his kitchen cupboard three times a day and one Sunday morning, he decided to move the shrine to a corner of his closet.

He told himself it wasn't really a shrine, anyway - had never been one, in fact. Just a picture and some items that he'd gotten from Anderson at one time or another. His closet was a much better place for it than his kitchen cupboard. People didn't keep mementos in their kitchen cupboards; it was weird.

Stephen opened the doors to his closet two times a day. In the evening, before going to bed, he picked out his clothes for the next day, and in the morning, he decided he didn't want to wear the clothes he'd selected the night before and exchanged them for others that better fitted his mood. He wore dark colours for a while, until he noticed it made people look at him in a certain way.

He never imagined Anderson's comments on the news of the day anymore. He gulped his morning coffee down quickly, poured himself another cup and read the newspaper with his eyes wide open.

The democrats weren't making as big a mess of things as Stephen'd thought they would, but there was still plenty of material to poke fun at. People made mistakes; it was only human. It was a pity he didn't seem to be able to catch one of Rahm's death-threats on tape, but a compilation of people's reaction to receiving a dead fish in the mail also made the intended point and it came with the added benefit of Rahm calling him in person to yell at Stephen for a good fifteen minutes.

After almost a month of people treating him like he was made of glass, it felt nice to be yelled at. It made Stephen feel productive again.

When Rahm asked him to have dinner together later that night, he said yes.

(The sushi was delicious - although Stephen regretfully reflected that Rahm really possessed no subtlety at all. Dead fish was still dead fish.)

*

"What's fucking Rahm Emanuel got that I haven't?" said Jon by way of 'good morning' the next day.

"If you're looking to have your ego stroked, you should reverse the question and leave out the expletive," Stephen replied. He was feeling better than he'd felt for a long time - no thanks to Rahm, obviously; it was purely a coincidence.

Jon made his 'I'm a total grouch and you're not as funny as you think you are' face. Stephen realized he hadn't seen that for quite a while, either - although he didn't think _that_ was a coincidence, exactly.

"I was _worried_."

"Why? It was just Rahm - you know what he's like. Let him give you a dead fish and he's happy as a clam, totally convinced he's ruined your day." The first time, maybe, Stephen supposed it might have worked that way - a pretty box, delivered without any obvious clue as to who it was from and then, a rotting, smelly fish inside. Nowadays, it had become sort of routine. Piss off Rahm, get a dead fish.

According to gossip, there were even people who'd pay a fair bit of money for a genuine Rahm-fish. At least one had ended up on eBay, although Rahm had publicly declared that one to be a fake and the bidding had ended at a disappointing hundred-and-fifty-one dollars.

To some people, Stephen assumed, getting a dead fish _might_ be a big deal. Rahm was still the Chief of Staff to the President, after all. Stephen wasn't worried though; he was neither a democrat nor a politician; he only made fun of them.

"He asked you out for dinner just so he could give you a dead fish?"

"It was sushi," Stephen said. "Why were you worried?"

Jon frowned at him. "Are you feeling all right? You're acting ... a little strange."

"I feel fine. And you're not answering my question."

"No," Jon said, taking a deep breath. "I'm not."

"Hey, want to go for drinks after work tomorrow?"

Jon was still eyeing him as if he was doubting Stephen's sanity. It was a little worrying, really, because if Stephen had been asked to name three people whom he was sure would always understand him, he'd have named Jon.

"All right."

"Oh, and did I ever tell you I kept a picture of Anderson in my kitchen cupboard?"

"No, you didn't ever tell me that, Stephen. But I'm not surprised that you did."

"It's no longer there now, of course," Stephen said quickly, feeling strangely defensive. "I moved it to my closet weeks ago."

When he got home tonight, he promised himself, he'd move it out of his closet, too. A closet was really no place for a picture - and he'd gotten tired of Anderson looking at him every morning and evening, anyway. It was time to move on.

And the next morning, when he woke up, with Anderson's picture safely put away in a drawer together with other pictures of people Stephen wanted to forget about, he woke up and saw the horse.


End file.
